The McCloud Home for Wayward Girls

“Was that Aunt Jocelyn?” Fee asked, startling Jill as she exited the pantry carrying two jars of expired peaches.

“I didn’t know you were there. Besides, you can talk to her in person. She’s coming for the funeral.”

“Woo-hoo.” Fee broke into an impromptu, celebratory shimmy.

“I’ll need help cleaning up the spare room.” In the year since Jocelyn had last visited, the extra room in the family’s ground-floor, private quarters had piled up with boxes and files.

“I’m on it,” Fee said, bounding away.

Jill clapped one arm over the other. Jocelyn was the parade that prevailed despite the gloomiest of forecasts. Remembering that awful Christmas fifteen years prior, Jill wondered at her sister’s ability to carry on while everyone around her could barely cope.

Jill fumbled with Scotch tape while pinning a roll of holiday wrap under her left arm. She heard a rustle at the front door and turned for a better view. The roll of paper tumbled onto the floor and opened into a red carpet of Santa caps and Rudolph noses stretching all the way into the foyer. Jocelyn stopped the procession with the toe of her boot.

“Where have you been?” Jill asked. “It’s after midnight.”

“Jesus, Jill, I may still live at home, but I’m under nobody’s watch. Or should I make a point of calling your dorm room on Saturday nights to make sure you’re all tucked in?”

“Nobody knew where you were,” Jill said, scrunching her brow at how often such a phone call would go unanswered.

Jocelyn unfurled her winter scarf with languid movements, as if its wet, scratchy wool were fine silk or cashmere. She held it against her cheek with a look of reverie. “Anyway, I was out. And it was absolute bliss.”

Jill cut the paper in four angry snaps of the scissors. It was so like Jocelyn to be off enjoying herself when everyone else was miserable. “Dad had a doctor’s appointment. He’s in his office, and Mom’s been in her room crying ever since.” She began rerolling the wrapping paper. It crumpled and bunched in an unsalvageable mess. “And Keith called for you twice.”

Jocelyn hung her jacket on the oak coatrack and stepped into the library. She wore a too-tight cream-colored sweater that was all but transparent.

“Where’s your bra?”

Jocelyn reached into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out a wad of white lace, which she unfurled with a snap. She quickly shrugged off her sweater, standing before Jill with an impressive endowment. Jocelyn then deftly hooked her bra behind her back; lifted the straps over her shoulders; and adjusted her breasts into the voluminous cups. “Is that better?” she asked, before tugging the sweater back over her head and fluffing her honey-blond hair.

Jill had, of course, seen her sister’s breasts hundreds of times. They shared a bathroom. She had, however, never seen them so conspicuously displayed. Jocelyn had always compared herself to Jill with a “You got the brains, and I got the boobs” summary. It had never really bothered Jill that Jocelyn was more buxom, partly because she also had to worry about her weight. In that moment, though, seeing Jocelyn so carefree, she felt a barrage of attacking emotions: shock, anger, embarrassment, and a nasty-tasting dollop of pea-green envy.

“So, what did the doctor say?” Jocelyn asked.

Jill blinked back tears. “He said to go home. Enjoy Christmas. Get his affairs in order, but there’s nothing more they can do.” She tucked the ends of the paper around the rectangular box in three efficient swipes of her thumbs; taped them down; and flung the package across the table.

“What does that mean?” Jocelyn asked.

“A couple of months, at the most.”

Jocelyn dropped into a chair. “What are we going to do?”

Jill sank into the seat across from her. “Mom’s a mess. She can barely get herself dressed in the morning. Never mind help with the staff and girls. She just keeps muttering, over and over, ‘Life is too short. Life is too short.’ I’m really worried about her.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Jocelyn said.

“When you think about it, she never knew her father. Her mother died when she was very young. Her first boyfriend died in a car wreck, and their baby at birth. Plus the miscarriage before you. That’s an awful lot to bear before you’re even fifty.”

Jocelyn brought her fist to her lips and tapped her mouth. “And now Dad.”

“I’ve made a decision,” Jill said, ignoring the bluntness of Jocelyn’s statement. “I’m not going back to school after break. I don’t even know how I’d concentrate with everything that’s going on here.” She tugged at a thread that had come loose from the arm of the upholstered chair. “I’m going to take a semester off.”

“What?” Jocelyn said. “You’re overreacting. Mom will pull it together. The two of us will hold things together around here, until . . .”

“What about your job at the salon?” Jill asked. “Are you going to cut your hours?”

“I couldn’t,” Jocelyn said. “I couldn’t afford to. Besides, I’ve finally built a solid base of clients. If I weren’t there, they’d find someone else. I’d lose them.”

“I want to be here,” Jill said. “Mom’s going to need me. Dad will, too. He’ll need help putting things in order. And maybe if I were here, we could start taking on girls again. Mrs. Lawrence from the Chicago shelter called just this evening to see if we were resuming operations. The hiatus has implications beyond just our finances, you know.”

“Don’t.” Jocelyn swung her head from side to side. “Mom doesn’t want to. Besides, if you did, you’d never get back to school. You’d be stuck here. Is that what you want?”

Nobody wanted to be “stuck” anywhere, Jill supposed, but what an awful way to describe duty and obligation to family, to her father, moreover—a man who had dedicated his life to the care and protection of girls in trouble, a man who lived for his family, a man who lived by the words of the McCloud clan motto: “Hold Fast.”

“I’m not sure what I want matters right now,” Jill said.

Jocelyn fidgeted in her seat. “Figures. I had the most perfect evening of my life, and then I come home and it all crashes.”

“What was so perfect about it?”

“John Foley.”

“Who?” Jill asked.

“John Foley. He’s the new bartender at Mick’s Pub. He gave me a private tour of the back room.” Jocelyn hoisted her right hip to the side. “I think I got a splinter in my butt from the wooden crate he backed me into.” She laughed. “It was worth it, though. I think I’m in love.”

Jill was speechless. Jocelyn had started dating Keith Fraser in September. The entire fall, during Jill’s weekly calls home, all Jocelyn could talk about was Keith. How handsome he was. How smart he was. How he’d gone to Dartmouth and had already worked in New York. Plus, his family had money, which made Jocelyn practically purr with contentment. “What about Keith?”

“What about him?” Jocelyn replied.

“I thought you two were going out.”

“We are.”

Jill blinked and shook her head. “So what’s with this John guy?”

Jocelyn jutted her chin out. “I’m twenty-two, not forty-two.” She held up her left hand. “And it’s not like there’s a ring on this finger.”

“So did you and Keith agree to see other people?”

“No.”

“Jocelyn, that’s rotten.”

Jocelyn stood. “It’s not rotten.” She flipped her hair back behind her shoulder. “It’s fun. Besides, guys do it all the time, so why shouldn’t we?”

Jocelyn left, and Jill finished wrapping the few gifts that remained, but she felt no holiday cheer. She didn’t want to think about her father. After the doctor’s appointment, he was shaken. His hand had trembled as he tried to grasp the mug of weak tea she’d set before him, atop a spread of bills and papers. At a time when he should be taking care of himself, he was worrying about other things: the girls they were declining, the consequent lack in funding, and even his wife. Jill had only been home for winter break for four days, but was already seriously alarmed at the state of her mother’s nerves. She had no focus, was forgetful, and, at times, was short with the girls and staff. When Glenda, an old friend of Ruby’s, had invited her for a drink, Daniel had encouraged the outing, arguing that a night out and a little girl talk would be a good diversion. Though it had recharged her mother’s spirits and even, ironically, her father’s, such selflessness had only saddened Jill.

Jill was also disappointed in Jocelyn. Keith was a nice guy and didn’t deserve to be cheated on. Moreover, rumor had it that his family was going through a rough patch. Keith’s mother had left his father for another man. Reeling from the split, Keith’s father, William, had come to town to stay with his sister, the infamous Hester Fraser. Keith had arrived soon after, fed up with the craziness of New York and hoping to console his father. Keith was working as a waiter, but Jocelyn had bragged he didn’t need the money, just wanted to learn the restaurant business.

Jill switched off the lights in the library and, in the foyer, lifted Jocelyn’s scarf from the floor where she had dropped it, her carelessness encompassing both the animate and inanimate. In many ways she was the perfect big sister. So proud of Jill and always the first to announce her baby sis as the “smartest girl both sides of the Mississippi.” Jocelyn had no interest in college herself, but had shown absolute glee when, two years ago, Jill had fanned a selection of college brochures across her bed. Jill respected Jocelyn’s decision to skip college. She made decent money at the hair salon, plus she liked her job. But Jill just couldn’t wrap her mind around the way Jocelyn treated guys.

Continuing down the hallway, alongside the staircase, she found lights left on at the back of the house, too. She switched off a lamp in the lounge and the chandelier over the dining-room table. In the kitchen, it wasn’t the fluorescent overhead she found most glaring. It was, rather, the open jars of paint, dirty brushes, and a half-finished canvas that was so alarmingly slapdash it would have brought even Pollock to his knees.

Jill was crouched, pulling serving trays from a low cupboard, when Fee popped back into the kitchen.

“I got the bed cleared off,” Fee said. “Most of the boxes fit in the closet. Some I had to stack on the floor.”

“Good enough,” Jill said, groaning to a stand. “Can you put clean sheets on the bed?”

“I guess. But are we still going to have time to go to the mall?”

The mall. Fee, bones lengthening virtually by the hour, had been promised new summer clothes. With everything that had come up, Jill had forgotten. “Probably not until after the weekend, now. It’s just too crazy.”

“But Aunt Jocelyn’s coming. I’ll need something to wear.”

“Hon, she’s your aunt, not your date.”

Fee stomped off, leaving Jill to remember the kind of tricks Jocelyn played on dates.

Jill pushed aside the “Happy New Year 1996” banner and scanned the crowd in the living room. No Jocelyn. She moved into the kitchen. Jocelyn wasn’t there either. Where the hell was she? Jocelyn had begged Jill to come to the party. She lent her a dress; did her hair and makeup; and even promised to leave before midnight, if Jill wasn’t having fun. Jill had argued that she’d be the third wheel to Jocelyn and Keith’s cozy duo. Jocelyn persisted until Jill finally relented, thinking maybe she should get out. Her dad had enjoyed a good couple of days. Christmas at home had buoyed his spirits. At Sunday dinner, Jill had caught her dad looking around the dining table at his wife and daughters, and Keith, with a nod of misty-eyed approval.

It was so like Jocelyn to talk Jill into something, paint an elaborate portrait, and then junk her like an old fridge. Jill took a sip of the cheap champagne. Her plastic glass had lost its stem, which prevented her from setting it down. She had to cup it in her hand, which made the cloyingly sweet beverage warmer by the moment. She took a few steps toward the sink, edging around a couple clamped in a passionate embrace, and dumped her drink down the drain.

“Have you seen Jocelyn?” Keith held a bottle of beer in each hand.

“No. I was looking for her, too.”

“Oh well. You want one?”

“Sure.” She sipped the beer and rejoiced as the cold, bitter brew washed away all taste of the sweet wine.

Keith glanced sideways at the entwined couple and shook his head. “You wanna go outside?”

It was a mild evening for winter, but still somewhere in the low thirties. Jill appreciated the clean, crisp air, but couldn’t help shivering.

“Too cold?” Keith asked.

“I don’t know how long I’ll last,” Jill said. “But it’s actually kind of nice. Too many smokers in there.”

“I’ll say. I could feel cancer cells forming in my lungs.” Keith suddenly went ashen, obviously realizing his casual use of the C-word. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “That was a stupid thing to say.” He patted his hair down, which only made it clump in a tuft of woolly brown. He had the kind of curls any woman would have coaxed and pulled into some sort of order. As a guy, though, he got away with a crop of unruly brown sprouts. She hadn’t found him attractive at first. Possibly because everyone, and Jocelyn the loudest, was proclaiming him such a hunk. He was tall, probably six two or three, and big, but she had thought him a little lumbering in his movements. She now noticed his soft brown eyes and dark lashes.

“It’s okay,” Jill said. “He doesn’t have lung cancer; it’s prostate.”

“I know, but it was still insensitive.” He rolled his shoulders, a gesture one would expect from a much younger boy, a teen still getting used to his own bulk. It was hard to believe Keith was twenty-four, a college grad who had already worked on Wall Street. It wasn’t that he lacked confidence; it was more that he had an air of reserve, with even a hint of self-deprecation. Jill had overheard him describing his job in New York as grunt work that any eighth-grade dropout could have performed.

Jill looked back at the house. She was getting cold, but the prospect of returning to a crowd of loud drunks wasn’t appealing. “I should have stayed home.”

“You’re not having a good time?”

“I’m not really into big parties.” It was one of the things she didn’t get about student life at Iowa. There were endless frat and dorm parties where everyone squeezed into a tiny space, and stood around drinking warm beer and listening to hard rock so loud her heart took a free fall on every downbeat. Ironically, Jill’s favorite part of most nights was the time she and her roommates spent primping and getting ready with Whitney Houston belting it out, and a bottle—or two—of wine open on the counter. Or when they had a few guy friends over for poker, or euchre, or a Sunday spaghetti dinner.

He nodded. “Me neither. Jocelyn begged me to come. I just wanted to go out for dinner and watch the ball drop on TV.”

“She begged me, too,” Jill said.

He scratched at his head. “Let’s look inside again. It’s not that big of a house.”

They searched the first-floor main rooms that were thick with bodies and thumping with sound. Upstairs, they moved along a hallway. One bedroom—a teen’s, judging by the Pearl Jam and Nirvana posters—had its door ajar and was occupied by a mashing couple. Another—the master judging by its size and muted decor—opened onto a red-eyed, smoke-shrouded circle of kids. One guy held a joint up between his thumb and forefinger. “You guys in or out?” he asked.

“Out,” Keith said, closing the door and fixing Jill with a grimace.

The next room—this one impossibly pink and Disneyprincess-themed—was empty. Jill was already backing out when Keith squealed, “Hungry Hippos. No way.”

Upon a Lilliputian table with two equally itty-bitty chairs sat a board game consisting of four plastic hippos atop an orange base with a collection of white marbles in the center. Keith swung one long leg over a chair and plunked down onto its seat, his knees becoming level with his eyebrows.

“Uh. You know this game?” Jill asked.

“Know it. I’m invincible. I call blue,” he said, spinning the board one turn to the right.

This left Jill with the pink hippo. Not necessarily her favorite color, but fitting given the Pepto-pink of the room. Slung over the footboard of the canopy bed, she spied a feather boa, for the creation of which a flamingo—or two—may have been plucked. She coiled it around her neck and lowered herself into the opposing seat that was too small even for her lessthan-lanky limbs.

“Hey. No fair,” Keith said. “There’s no dress-up in Hungry Hippos.”

“I thought you were invincible,” Jill said. “If so, what difference could a few feathers make?”

Keith dipped his head and squinted. “Game on, then.”

The game—the object of which was, by the random slamming of a lever, to cause the hippo’s head to lunge and gobble marbles—took mere minutes to play. At the end of the game, which required neither timing nor skill, Jill’s pink hippo had taken twelve of the twenty marbles.

Keith sat back, tugging at his hair. “No way. My first loss ever. It was that thing around your neck. It was a distraction.”

Jill sighed. “What are you talking about? That was pure talent.”

He crossed his arms. “So what don’t you like about big parties?”

“Change of subject. I get it,” she said, unwrapping the boa from her neck. “For starters, no one ever really talks to you. It’s too loud and conversations are these half-shouted oneliners. And even if the other person could hear you, they’re usually too busy checking out the scene to really listen.”

“I hear you.”

They both chuckled at his unintended pun. She noticed the little crinkled-papery lines that formed at the corners of his eyes. And his smile. He had perfect teeth.

“You don’t sound like the college kids I knew,” he continued.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s a good thing. I always wondered why they were there if they didn’t take it seriously.”

“I take it seriously,” Jill said. “Maybe too seriously. I love school. I only wish . . .”

“What?”

“It’s just a bad time right now for my family. I’m taking next semester off.”

“Really? You’re what? A sophomore?”

“Yes.” Jill shrugged. “School will still be there in a few months.” She stared out the black-as-coal window before turning back to look at Keith. “But my dad probably won’t be.”

Keith took a long time to respond, all the while holding her gaze. “On second thought,” he said, “I think you’re doing the right thing. Family takes care of family. Period.”

“Is that why you’re here with your dad?”

“Is that what you heard?”

“Yes.”

He rubbed his jaw. “I’m worried about him.” He stopped for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to continue. “He’s in a bad place right now. Drinking too much. Out all hours. My mom left him pretty shattered. He really couldn’t stand being in the same town with her and her . . . boyfriend.” He fiddled with the game’s marbles, moving them from his collection cup to the center starting position. “It got me thinking. Don’t get too far down a path that doesn’t make you happy. So I quit my job with the brokerage firm and showed up here. Thought I could keep an eye on my dad while I figure things out.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

He smiled. “Still thinking that one through, and driving my aunt Hester crazy in the process.” He smiled even wider. “I like the restaurant business. You never take it home with you at night. And every day, you start with a clean plate. Literally.”

An outburst of voices and a thump against the wall sounded from the hallway.

“Should we keep looking for Jocelyn?” Keith asked, already stretching to a stand.

She was still nowhere to be found. They ended up back in the kitchen with two fresh beers.

“Do you think she left without us?” Jill asked.

“Why would she do that?”

“But how could we have missed her?”

Keith scratched his head. “You wanna play Ping-Pong till we find her? No one was using the table when we checked the basement. Double or nothing.”

“I didn’t realize there was anything on the hippo game.”

“There’s always something at stake.”

“So what am I risking?”

“I’ll tell you after I win.”

Jill hadn’t played in years, but found her game easily. Keith, on the other hand, swung too hard, the ball ricocheting off the walls, or took his eye off the ball, whiffing entirely, at times. With every miss, he looked at his paddle skeptically, as if for some flaw or defect. She beat him twenty-one to fifteen.

“Some night,” he said, laying his paddle on the table. “Another epic loss.”

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’d been undefeated before this. An Olympic hopeful.”

He smiled. “Olympics? That’s for amateurs. I was going pro. About to embark on a world tour. This, however”—he gestured toward the table—“will kill my ranking.”

“Tough break,” she said.

There was a loud crash from a back room and a distinctive snorting laugh. Jill’s stomach sank as she set her own paddle down. “I think I hear Jocelyn.”

She and Keith walked across the room. A cloth curtain separated the finished part of the basement from an unfinished laundry and storage area. Jill pulled the panel to the side. At first, she didn’t see anything, but then some movement in a pile of dirty clothing caught her eye. Jocelyn was tangled in the arms and legs of some guy. The fallen ironing board lay on the floor next to them. Jocelyn had presumably added her own dress to the pile of washing, as she was down to only her underwear and bra pulled down to her waist. She was on top and the guy’s hands were inside her panties, cupping her butt.

“What the hell?” Keith said.

Jocelyn rolled off the guy, pulled up her bra, and began fumbling through the pile of clothes. “Where the heck is my dress?” she said in a boozy voice.

“Who the hell are they?” the guy asked.

Jocelyn found her dress and clutched it to her chest. “Silly, that’s my sister and my boyfriend.” She then leaned backward into the mound of laundry in a fit of laughter.

Keith’s face clamped, a press of hard lines. “Happy fuckin’ New Year to you, too.” He took off, bounding up the stairs in four brisk steps.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jocelyn?” Jill yelled. She, too, rushed up the stairs. Emerging into the kitchen, she heard the back door slam. She followed Keith out into the yard. He stood with his back to the house, shivering in the dark. She didn’t know what to say, and as she hesitated the house behind her erupted into shouts. “Ten, nine, eight . . .”

“If you ask me,” Jill said, “Jocelyn’s an idiot.”

“Five, four . . .”

“And drunk is no excuse,” she said.

“One.”

Keith whipped around. At first he seemed furious. Jill worried he would explode into some verbal, or even physical, tirade. She braced herself as the raucous chorus of “Happy New Year” pealed through the night air. Keith seized her by the shoulders and pulled her into a kiss. His right hand snaked itself up from her neck and deep into her curls while his left pressed her body into the contours of his own. His lips pressed hard on hers and his tongue explored her greedily. He let go, panting. “I’m sorry. You’re going to think I did that to get back at Jocelyn.”

Jill was still in shock. “Did you?”

He shook his head. “I’ll admit I was pissed when I first saw them.” He reached out and pulled Jill’s pinkie and ring finger into his hand. “But the truth is, for about the last hour, I’ve been wishing I’d met you first.”